


The Detective Doth Fear No Colours

by nookienostradamus



Series: All's Well That Ends Well [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Begging, Come Eating, Connor is the Pragmatic One, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dom Hank, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Feelings, Felching, Gavin Gets the Dicking of a Lifetime, Gavin and Connor are Super Switch, Hand Jobs, Hank Anderson's Legendary Enormous Dick, Hank Big, Healthy Relationships, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Public Sex, Rimming, Spanking, Sub Connor, Sub Gavin, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Hank, Voyeurism, coming on command, machismo, self doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 03:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nookienostradamus/pseuds/nookienostradamus
Summary: Just like a Shakespearean comedy, it starts with jealousy, curiosity, and misunderstanding.Gavin's wank-bank crush on a younger Hank Anderson is the tinder, and a delicious rumor about the lieutenant's legendary endowment is the spark. Connor coaxes Gavin to bring the two together by suggesting they spice up their sex lives by inviting Hank into the mix. By the time Gavin, Connor, and Hank manage to feel each other out - literally and figuratively - there's one hell of a flame.And again, just like the Bard intended, everyone enjoys a jolly good dicking. All's well that ends well, indeed.





	The Detective Doth Fear No Colours

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from _Twelfth Night_ , Act I, Scene V.
> 
>  **Maria:** Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will  
> not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in  
> way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.
> 
>  **Clown:** Let her hang me: _he that is well hanged in this_  
>  _world needs to fear no colours._
> 
>  
> 
> Honestly, if you're not reading/watching Shakespeare for the dick jokes, what are you doing with your life?

****_I’ll never live this one down_.

At least, that’s what Gavin was thinking in the few days after he’d run his mouth to Connor. That’s not to say he wasn’t _always_ running his mouth, but most of it was stuff that didn’t matter: dirt on one case or another, bitching about Detroit sports teams.

But they’d been in bed one Saturday after a marathon fuck session and maybe Gavin had gotten a little too cozy. Good sex loosened everything up—tongue included—and it fogged up his brain so it got hard to tell the difference between what he should say and what he should keep to himself.

And, honestly, with Connor the sex was _always_ good.

It had started with Gavin bent over the sofa and a long-fingered hand tight in his hair. Connor had fucked him until he could barely breathe, the whole time muttering the sweet little nuggets of praise that never failed to get Gavin harder than a concrete bollard. There was probably still come all over the back of the couch. Luckily, they ended one room over with Connor bouncing on Gavin’s cock, the bedsheets filthy with the syrupy stuff that passed for android spunk. (After that first time, Gavin almost always asked for a lot of it. He really liked its barely-there taste, too. At some point, he’d realized he was constitutionally incapable of stopping himself from hitting his knees and swallowing that perfect cock whenever the two of them got a moment alone.)

Connor was a drug.

Accordingly, Gavin was high as fuck.

So what happened shouldn’t have been any surprise. Grinning, groggy, and satisfied, Gavin had slouched against the headboard in a post-coital haze, chewing a toothpick. Beside him, Connor had been laid out lean and pale, with his toes hanging over the end of the bed. He’d traced over a spot on Gavin’s inner thigh while Gavin yammered on.

“You ever see those pictures of Anderson on the walls?” he’d asked. “Like from _way back_? I don’t wanna be weird, but dude could _get it_.”

Connor had looked up. “By ‘get it,’ you mean find sex partners?”

That should have been a cue to shut the fuck up.

But, you know... _Gavin_.

“Well, had to be, right? Come on, the guy was a side of beef.”

“You don’t think he can ‘get it’ anymore?”

Gavin had paused, rational thought starting to catch up. “I dunno. Sure, if the person’s old, too, I guess. Not my scene.”

Connor’s dark brows had drawn in. It put this shallow crease right between them that Gavin thought was impossibly cute—like a confused puppy. “Hank is fifty-three. The average American male in 2038 has a life expectancy of almost ninety-two—”

Yanking the toothpick out of his mouth, Gavin had asked, “When did you start calling him ‘Hank?’”

Tilting his chin just upped the puppy factor. Goddamn adorable. “When he asked me to,” Connor had said.

“Never asked _me_ to call him that,” Gavin had mumbled. He’d felt a warm hand on his thigh, close enough to be exciting but not quite a ball-tickler.

“I was under the impression you don’t like Hank,” Connor had said. “I would think it wouldn’t matter if that’s the case.”

The line had sounded way too middle-school-counselor. Gavin had felt the promise of fun draining away. “I don’t talk to Anderson.” He’d conveniently left out the time he’d run into Anderson at his shitty bar. Everything before he and Connor started boning in earnest kind of didn’t matter, anyway.

Connor’s fingers had tightened a little, poking into the right tender spots like guided missiles. He knew all of Gavin’s boner buttons by now. “But you find him sexually attractive.”

Gavin had winced to hide a dick twitch. That shit was _super_ unfair. He remembered thinking he couldn’t just be trained like some dog to associate “hard-on” with Hank fucking Anderson. Not after all the grief that old bastard had given him. “ _Found_ ,” Gavin had clarified. “I mean, you can still see where he was, but the dude’s not exactly prime tail anymore.”

Connor had shrugged, then rested his sharp chin on Gavin’s leg. “I would argue Hank has many attributes that make him attractive, physically or otherwise.”

Gavin had faked a full-body shudder, knocking Connor’s chin. “Eugh, that’s enough. You can think about banging that hairy fuck on your own time. Just don’t bring him into _ours_.”

At that, Connor had sat up, his lips pressed tight together.

Part of Gavin had felt sorry for freaking out, but the other part just wanted to stop being uncomfortable.

“You’re not curious about the rumors?” Connor had asked.

 _Rumors?_ Gavin hadn’t heard shit about shit. That pissed him off double; he always felt like he was floating around the edges of the squad, never on the inside.

Never _one of the guys_.

But oh, he was _absolutely_ curious. And inquiries would be made.

“No,” he’d said for the moment, crossing his arms. It was hard as hell to look tough and decisive with your dick out, but Gavin had tried. “Now, shove a cork in it or I’ll shove a cock in it.”

Arching one eyebrow, Connor had said, “I prefer the second option.” He’d reached right out and grabbed to drive the point home.

Gavin had preferred that, too.

 

**

 

The next day at the station, it was _Mission: Rumors._ Gavin was going to pry it out of someone else and surprise Connor with it. Whatever _it_ was.

“So, uh, what’s the deal with Anderson?” he asked Miller after parking his butt on the edge of his desk.

“Get your nasty ass off my work surface, Reed.”

“It’s clean,” Gavin sneered. “I wash at least once a month.”

Miller gave him a flat stare.

“Anderson…” Gavin prompted again.

“What about him?”

“Did you hear—” he started. “You know what? Never fucking mind.”

In the little kitchenette, dumping shitty powdered creamer into even shittier coffee, he tried again with a couple other guys. “You hear about the thing with Anderson?”

One of them cleared his throat. “What thing?”

That put Gavin off. His shoulders hunched up. Connor had a sense of humor (yeah, Gavin really hadn’t been expecting it, either), but surely he wouldn’t put him up to asking around about something that didn’t exist just to embarrass him?

That...that would just be fucking _mean_.

He turned the reflex into a casual shrug. “Oh, I just heard some juicy dirt was making the rounds.”

“Yeah?” said the other guy. “Like what?”

Gavin ground his teeth together so hard it sounded like forks on a dinner plate inside his head. He breathed out hard and turned around. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be fucking asking, would I?”

“Calm down, short stuff,” said the ginger one with the receding hairline. “If old Anderson was gonna bomb the building or something, I think we’d know.”

“Fine,” Gavin managed. Five-foot-nine was _not_ short. He could feel an angry flush creeping right up out of his collar and onto his face. Hating the way he went beet red when he was pissed off just made him blush harder. “Whatever.” God _damn_ , he wanted to say something about the dude’s Bozo-the-Clown hair, but all the words were jammed up in his throat, glued there with frustration and rage.

He desperately hoped there wouldn’t be a fight about this with Connor. Gavin was no good in an argument. A knock-down, drag-out, fists-flying scrap, sure, but not a _verbal_ one. And it was precisely because all the bullshit emotion trapped his words like there was a drain plug in his chest. That meant if Gavin couldn’t punch something, the only alternative was tears. He would never— _could never_ —punch Connor (besides, it would probably bust the bones in his hand to powder). But he was also afraid the humiliation of flat-out bawling during a fight would kill him.

Walking past the two cops out of the break room, Gavin made sure to give one a good knock with his shoulder.

“Rar,” he heard one say behind him. “ _Angry_ little kitty today.”

The other laughed. “More like a Chihuahua!” High-pitched barking followed Gavin out of the room.

By that point, he was so steamed up he had to take a breather in the jacks—way too close to putting a fist through a mirror or two.

It was Fowler, of all people, who clued him in at last.

Hands jammed in his pockets, Gavin was loitering around his office staring at some of the prints on the wall. Thirty-something Anderson with his ridiculous curly hair, towering over the squad in the annual pick-up basketball game against Cyber Crime. Gavin wasn’t sure how it was in those days, but for the last few years, the nerds had kicked Homicide’s collective ass. He was willing to bet it was the other way around while Anderson was still playing.

There was another pic, maybe ten years later: a merit awards ceremony. Baby Patrol Officer Gavin might actually have been there. Anderson was in dress uniform, holding his cap. A little more scruff, a little more gray, but still, well...slammin’.

Fowler poked his head out the door. “You ever going to join in on one of those games?” he asked, snaking a thick arm around to tap the picture. “Our reputation is in the shitter.”

“Get the android to do it,” Gavin said. “In case you hadn’t heard, I’m _short_.”

“Muggsy Bogues,” Fowler said.

“Huh?”

He stepped all the way out of the office. “Motherfucker was five-foot-three. Tyrone Bogues, AKA Muggsy. Drafted all the way back in 1987 by a team called the Washington Bullets. Had a hundred-and-ten-centimeter vertical jump. You’ve got some height on him, too. Ain’t no reason why a short man can’t play basketball.”

Truth be told, Gavin was a little shocked. Fowler never usually seemed to have time for him, but he was coming on downright _fatherly_ just then. “He still alive?”

“Yes, indeed,” Fowler told him. “In his seventies now. Probably even shorter. Some day, all you young assholes find out that age shrinks you down.”

Gavin shifted his weight, cautiously comfortable enough to take his hands out of his pockets. “Anderson’s still huge.”

That got an unexpected laugh. “Apparently, you don’t know the half of it.”

Frowning, Gavin asked, “What’s that mean?”

Fowler shook his head.

For a second, Gavin was afraid he was going to duck back in his office, leaving him with more to ponder about the enigma that was Hank Anderson, but he chuckled and tapped the basketball team photo with with a stubby forefinger.

“What I understand, before that very game in which we cremated Cyber a hundred twelve to sixty-five, bunch of the guys were joking around in the lockers, measuring dicks. _Literally._ ”

“You ‘understand?’” Gavin asked. “You were there, though, right?”

“Not for that.” He clapped Gavin on the shoulder. “I’m a black man, son. That ain’t a fair contest.”

“Isn’t that a stereotype?” asked Gavin.

Fowler raised one eyebrow, fixing Gavin with a deadly stare. “Is it?”

He shrank away a little.

“Anyhow,” Fowler said, “legend has it Anderson is hauling around a fucking boa constrictor. Like, smuggled that motherfucker right out of the zoo. Real third-leg shit, close to a goddamn disability. Or so I heard.”

Gavin’s eyes went wide. He would later swear up and down that his mouth was _not_ watering at the time. “Jesus.”

Fowler shrugged and laughed again. “Whether or not it’s true, what went down in the lockers sure made ol’ Hank feel good. I think he scored half the points that game.”

“Good to know.”

Another heavy hand on his shoulder. “Probably not something you ever wanted to hear, huh?”

“That’s right,” said Gavin. It was too immediate and _way_ too chipper. He _had_ wanted to hear, and that particular bit of knowledge was about to start crowding his brain space much like Anderson’s magical endowment was apparently crowding his pants.

 

**

 

Connor didn’t ask whether he’d learned anything until a couple of days later. Unfortunately, it happened to come up right when he and Gavin were tangled up on the couch, legs wrapped around each other, swapping spit. (Yes, shut up—they didn’t _always_ have to be fucking like the world was going to end. Gavin liked kissing, and Connor was damn good at it. Plus, that day—a particularly frigid one smack in the middle of a Detroit winter—was perfect for it.)

“Still curious about that rumor?” Connor asked, his smooth cheek sliding along Gavin’s stubbly one.

Gavin sat back, trying not to look like he was pouting. “Never said I was in the first place.”

“You didn’t have to _say_ it.”

“You’re only asking because you think I know what it is.”

“Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Gavin said, approaching full-on surly. “Now could you please put your tongue back in my mouth?”

He obliged for a little while, but Gavin had learned pretty quickly that androids couldn’t leave well enough alone. At least _this_ one couldn’t.

“So your curiosity is satisfied?” Connor asked.

Gavin huffed, flopping back against the arm of the couch. He’d whacked his head on it a little, but at that point he was too annoyed to care. “Sweet Christ on a saltine, Con. Is my dick not good enough for you? Is that it? Gotta go chasing after some anaconda...never mind that it’s attached to a surly old asshole!”

Connor’s expression softened. He leaned forward, putting a hand on Gavin’s cheek. “Gavin. Every part of you is good enough. Better than. I wouldn’t have brought it up if you hadn’t seemed interested. You have to understand: sometimes I forget that humans connect emotional intimacy so closely with sexual intimacy. I am happy to spend time with you whether or not it includes sex. My estimation of your value as a companion is made independently from my appreciation of your...dick.”

 _Goddammit_. For as weird and cold as it might have sounded to someone else, Connor’s honest and frankly _android-ish_ reassurances always gave Gavin the warm fuzzies. It wasn’t that he couldn’t bullshit—he totally could, with the best of ‘em. But he didn’t seem to have time or need for it when it came to stuff that was actually important.

Gavin blinked. _Don’t get all weepy, ya idiot._

“I wanted to do something for you,” Connor went on. “In a way you’d feel comfortable expressing an attraction outside of our partnership.”

“By setting me up with Anderson?”

Connor’s eyes narrowed slightly; the corners of his lips curved up. “Not only you.”

Shocked but somehow pleased, Gavin surged forward again and dug his fingertips into Connor’s ribs. That earned a laugh and some squirming. Figuring out androids could be ticklish had been one hell of a high point in this...whatever it was...so far.

“Holy shit,” he said, giddy. “Don’t tell me you’re all worked up over the thought of some monster cock!”

Connor seized Gavin by the hair—not too hard—and scraped his perfect teeth along the join of his shoulder. “Mm. Don’t tell me _you’re not,_ ” he murmured in Gavin’s ear.

“We don’t even know that it’s true,” Gavin said, though he still clung to Connor’s neck and dipped the fingers of his free hand below the collar of his shirt. “Could be a load of horseshit. An urban legend.”

“True,” said Connor. “But there are ways to find out.”

“I’m not stalking Anderson into the john.”

One eyebrow arching, Connor pushed his thumb past Gavin’s lips and into his mouth.

Gavin sucked right away, giving a little grunt as his eyelids flickered and closed.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” said Connor. It was a straight-up purr.

With fingers around Connor’s slim wrist, Gavin tugged the thumb out of his mouth, letting it trace a wet trail down his chin and neck. His cock was starting to perk up, even though he couldn’t decide yet whether it was a good sign that their talk about pulling Anderson into the mix didn’t make it shrivel right up.

He’d been with guys bigger than himself, and smaller, too. Sure, it had been a hot minute since he’d _taken_ a huge dick. That didn’t mean—even if he was being cautious and feeling things out—that he was opposed to watching Connor get rammed in the meantime.

 _If_ he was interested...

“Say this shit went down,” Gavin said. “Like, _theoretically_. Would you want him to fuck you?”

Tilting his chin, Connor asked, “Would you find that arousing?”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“My answer is, ‘only if you would find it arousing.’”

Gavin paused, letting it sink in. “I might.” Another pause. “Not quite sure I’d want to, you know, do anything with Anderson. But maybe if we were, uh...at the same time…”

“I would find that more than acceptable,” Connor said.

Oh, man. It was only a few seconds to boner lift-off, and imagining double-teaming Connor sure wasn’t slowing the countdown. Even if it was with a weird, anti-social, slightly chubby senior detective. And he’d be lying if he said an epic dick wouldn’t tip the scales.

On top of that, agreeing to try would get him closer to laid _right now_.

Just like that, Gavin was in. “If you want to give it a shot, baby. All’s he can do is say ‘no,’ right?”

Connor’s grin was quick and filthy. “And even so, I still have you. And you have me.”

“Uh-huh,” Gavin said, blood draining out of his brain and straight into his cock. “I’m gonna have you right now.”

“I would find that more than acceptable,” Connor repeated, looking downright wicked. Then he took a fucking swan-dive into Gavin’s crotch and swallowed his cock and neither of them could talk for a while even if they wanted to.

 

**

 

The promise of hot sex aside, Gavin knew cold feet were coming. Sure enough, the doubt hit hard on the night before he and Connor were planning on cornering Anderson. When it was still a fun fantasy—all hazy and not-real—he couldn’t be nervous. But that night he barely slept, flopping around in a puddle of cold sweat, his muscles all bunched up and achy.

At three a.m. he practically had to slap his own cheek to center his thoughts. Stop the damn hamster wheel going around over the same shit in his brain.

Where was the old ballsy Gavin who thought he was hot enough shit to pull down any guy he wanted with a wink? Hell, he’d even fucked fellow cops—especially before he made detective. Donut runs were for old guys who’d stopped giving a shit; young jocks parked in an alley and jerked each other off for stress release.

But this time he felt like a kid about to ask his crush to the middle school dance. Could be that he thought he was smooth before meeting Connor, who out-smoothed practically everyone. Sexy bastard was slick like butter. No matter what he’d said, Anderson would have to be bugshit to pass up a chance with him.

Damn, maybe _that_ was it. Maybe Gavin was scared it would all go to hell because Anderson couldn’t imagine fucking Connor with _him_ in the room. It was dumb, it was embarrassing...but he wanted to be _wanted_ , even if it wasn’t him riding the dick.

Stumbling into the bathroom to splash his face with cold water made Gavin calm down a little bit. If he didn’t get some sleep, he’d look like shit the next morning.

That wouldn’t do much to make their offer appealing.

Connor had told him that he planned to meet Anderson in the kitchenette around the time most of the squad took off for lunch. The diners around the station would be full of cops stuffing their faces, but the break room relatively empty.

That did not, however, prevent Gavin from freezing up like a doomed deer when he walked in and saw Connor and Anderson chatting by the fridge.

Both looked at him, but only Anderson’s face turned noticeably sour.

 _Shit_. Gavin felt like running, coffee be damned.

“Gavin,” Connor said, “thank you for joining us.”

He was on guard right away. Just how much had he told Anderson already? Why the stink face when he walked in?

Trying not to hunch his shoulders, Gavin walked toward them. He could feel the blood pounding away in his temples. Maybe he’d have a convenient aneurysm and get out of doing this.

“You look like I shot your dog, Reed,” Anderson said.

“I always look like this,” Gavin managed.

Anderson didn’t quite chuckle, but he didn’t walk away, either.

“Hank,” Connor said, “I’d like to ask you something.”

Damned if he wasn’t already putting on the Seduction Voice.

Double damned if Anderson didn’t notice the change. He looked over at Connor, suspicious.

Gavin knew something had shifted in his head. The cop sense: it was like a motion detector, only for little changes in voices or faces. He knew it because he had it too. Like feeling the wind shift. Sometimes it was the only thing saved you from getting killed.

“Actually, both of us would,” Connor continued.

“Holy _shit_ ,” said Anderson. He pushed his hair away from his forehead with a broad hand, then looked at Connor. “You actually did it. You fucked this guy.”

It was a quick call, spot-on. Gavin was impressed. At the same time, the machinery was ticking away in his own head. No way to tell from the tone what Anderson thought about his deduction. And he hadn’t said _Gavin_ or even _Reed_ , but he’d used _this guy_ instead of, say, _this cunt_ or _that douchebag_.

Progress?

“Gavin and I have been enjoying a very fulfilling physical relationship, yes.”

Anderson snorted. “More power, kid. I guess. But why in the fuck are you telling _me_?”

Just as slippery as silk, no worries at all, Connor said: “We’d like you to join us.”

Anderson flinched. His eyes went wide. He looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped, huffed, shook his head.

That brain bleed would be welcome any time now…

To Gavin’s surprise, Anderson looked over at him. “I thought you hated my guts.”

“I—uh…I mean, we don’t—” Gavin took a breath. “I don’t really know you. Much.”

“And you want to,” Anderson said, looking skeptical. “With... _fucking_.”

Furiously telling himself not to blush wasn’t working. Gavin pointed at Connor. “He’s...I mean he likes—” Another stupid, stuttery pause. “And, you know, I guess I heard…”

Connor was smiling for some insane reason. “Gavin and I have talked about the things that make you attractive, Hank. We’re in agreement about most of them.”

That might have been a stretch, Gavin figured. Basically, his brain was a glowing marquee scrolling HUGE COCK HUGE COCK behind his eyes. He could at least try to look deep and thoughtful by shutting his yap and letting Connor talk.

Anderson still looked confused, bordering on pissed about it. “So...what does he like?” he asked Gavin. “What did you hear?”

Connor’s hand on Gavin’s shoulder was just about the only thing stopping him from falling down. Connor told Anderson: “I would be more than happy to engage in whatever acts you enjoy, Hank. Whether Gavin does is his decision, but of course I’d like to make sure he is satisfied, as well.”

Anderson pinned Gavin with another stare. “You’d be good with that?”

He scratched his head. “Yeah. I mean...yeah. Like he said, we, uh, talked.”

Another head-shake. “Well, shit, kid,” he said to Connor. “I mean, you’re really fucking nice to look at—”

Connor cut in. “And I believe I heard you once describe Gavin as a ‘hot piece.’”

For the first time, Anderson looked _truly_ uncomfortable.

Gavin might have allowed a little triumph if he hadn’t been sure the guy was about to say he was plug-ugly compared to Connor.

Anderson let go of a frustrated sigh. “Okay, yeah. I might’ve.” He looked over at Gavin. “Like I said, could help your cause if you weren’t such a shit all the time.”

“I’m not,” he said, sounding a lot like the loser in a playground fight. “ _All_ the time.”

“Well, you’ve been a lot less shitty lately. Getting laid on the regular is doing some good, I guess.”

“Sexual release has been shown in multiple clinical studies to improve mood,” Connor said.

For once, Gavin didn’t mind him being so damn technical.

“Listen,” Anderson said, “I gotta think about it, okay? You two came right the fuck out of nowhere with this.”

“Of course,” Connor said, smooth as velvet.

After another shake of his head, Anderson turned to leave the kitchenette. Near the door, he stopped and looked back. “Is this about that dick contest thing?”

Gavin had nothing to say to that. Worse, he had no back-up. Apparently, that one had knocked Connor speechless, too.

Anderson did laugh, then. Just a little. “Never gonna live that one down,” he muttered before disappearing around the corner.

All of Gavin’s breath came out in a rush. He felt slightly faint. “Well, that was the worst thing ever.”

“Not necessarily,” Connor said. “He didn’t say no.”

“ _Yet_ ,” Gavin said. “Can’t imagine ‘Hey, I want to use you for your outsize dong’ could be too flattering.”

Connor sniffed dismissively. “Of _course_ you can.”

Gavin was damn glad he hadn’t put any money on it, because sure e-fucking-nough, toward the end of shift, a message from Anderson popped up on his console.

It was three words.

 

_When and where?_

 

**

 

Gavin’s proposed answer—at least in his head—had been _When I work up the courage._

Like an idiot, he’d deferred to Connor. Who’d said: _tonight_.

What’s more he’d gone ahead and invited the whole crew to Gavin’s place, which meant a furious clean-up. Not that his little house was messy or anything; it was just _unimpressive_. Beat-up couch, blinds that needed dusting, boring bed-in-a-bag sheets and quilt.

Of course, what he was telling himself the entire time he was scrubbing the grubby shower floor or scraping endless crumbs off his kitchen counters was that Anderson couldn’t possibly live better. It was probably way worse.

Gavin at least hadn’t reached the surrender stage of bachelorhood.

Giving the house a once-over actually turned out to be a good thing. It kept him from spending the handful of hours between end of shift and zero hour going quietly insane. He very well could have been freaking out over dirt under his fingernails or making sure every hair on his nutsack was trimmed to the exact same length.

It was still a relief when Connor showed up. He pulled what Gavin recognized as an expensive bottle of whiskey out of a brown paper bag.

“You never got _me_ whiskey,” Gavin grumped.

That infuriating head tilt. “You never asked.”

The explanation sure didn’t help. Gavin huffed. “Fucking presumptuous. I mean, we’re doing _him_ the favor.”

Wordlessly, Connor pulled a glass out of the cupboard, twisted off the cap on the bottle of booze, and dumped a damn generous pour into the tumbler. When he handed it over to Gavin, he said, “Do _yourself_ a favor.”

Gavin frowned, but he still took a sip. Really good stuff. Wonder what Cyberlife would say about Connor taking a chunk out of his expense account to drop on hooch. “I’m not that bad,” he said. After a second: “Am I?”

Connor’s tone was clipped but his face was kind. “It’s not an exam, Gavin. It’s sex. It’s supposed to be enjoyable.”

Nodding, Gavin took a slow breath and let it out even slower. “Yeah.” He squared his shoulders and stretched his neck. “What’s the worst that could happen?” As he was trying to tell himself not to mentally answer that question, the doorbell rang.

Pulse through the roof. He took a slug of the whiskey and opened the door.

Anderson hadn’t dressed up for the occasion, but maybe his shirt was slightly less ridiculous than usual. And he’d definitely showered: his hair was damp and pulled back into a low ponytail and that was...sort of appealing?

Even if Gavin wouldn’t say the word exactly, it made Anderson look a lot less like he lived under a damn bridge. He stepped aside and let him come in. The only word he could summon was, “Drink?” Likely because that’s what he was holding.

“Sure,” Anderson said. “What are you having?”

Connor slid right in, ready with a glass and everything. “Dalmore Single Malt. Cask-aged.”

Anderson shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the doorknob. “Sign me the fuck up,” he said.

Losing the jacket set loose a whole avalanche of what-the-fuck inside Gavin’s head because fucking Anderson _smelled nice_ —whatever scent he’d slapped on kind of blowing Gavin’s way on a puff of warmth from that fridge-sized body. His mouth started watering.

“Should we sit down?” Connor asked. In the living room, he settled onto the couch with a fidgety Gavin next to him.

Anderson took the armchair, which matched precisely nothing else in the room.

“Before beginning our relationship, Gavin and I talked about needs and expectations,” Connor said. “Negotiation of boundaries is important. Is there anything you’re uncomfortable with, Hank?”

Swiping the back of his big hand across his lips, Anderson said, “I don’t bottom.”

“That’s fine,” Connor told him.

At that point, Anderson smiled, showing the little gap between his front teeth. “Anything else is negotiable.”

Fuck, how could he and Connor be so damned relaxed when Gavin himself was wound tighter than a room full of cuckoo clocks? He forced himself to uncurl his fingers and unclench his toes.

_It’s just sex._

“Not here to disrupt whatever routines you two have,” Anderson said. “I could be okay just watching if either of you get cold feet.”

Of course, he was looking right at Gavin.

“I’m fine,” Gavin said, not sounding fine. “He’s okay. With pretty much anything.”

“Well,” Anderson said, leaning back in the chair and propping one ankle on the opposite tree-trunk thigh, “we could start out that way in any case. Takes me a little longer to gear up these days.”

Gavin’s bladder was feeling awfully small, even though he’d made sure to have a piss before Connor arrived. Everything felt a little more squeezed when he looked to the side and saw that Connor had taken off his jacket and was unbuttoning his shirt. Almost like he remembered there was company, he slowed it down some, just the way he had the first time he and Gavin had gotten together.

As usual, Gavin couldn’t look away if he tried—bigger and bigger swaths of pale skin showing up as the buttons went down, down, down. By the time the shirt was tossed aside on the couch, he’d forgotten the whiskey entirely.

“Fuck me,” Anderson muttered.

“That’s what I said.” The words were out of Gavin’s mouth before he realized it. Afterward, he panicked slightly, shooting a glance over at Anderson.

He didn’t make a snarky comment about what Gavin had said, though. Just gave a quick nod. When he turned back to watch Connor, he looked impressed...and more than a tiny bit _hungry_.

His pants slung low over his narrow hips now, Connor reached out a hand and pulled Gavin to his feet. With cool fingers against Gavin’s jaw, he leaned in for a long kiss—a little wet, a little messy. Just the way Gavin liked it.

Spurred on, Gavin let his fingertips coast along all that smooth skin from shoulder to waistband, back up that toned belly and chest. It was cosmically unfair that Connor just got _built_ with his goddamn art gallery body while Gavin (or anyone else) had to sweat and suffer.

Connor slipped around behind him and yanked the collar of Gavin’s t-shirt out of the way to nibble at his neck. At the same time, he pulled the hem up and skimmed a warm hand over Gavin’s belly. Clever bastard—he gave one of Gavin’s nipples a pinch, distracting him enough to practically yank the t-shirt up and over his head.

He ended up with the choice between looking a complete fool or raising his arms and shrugging out of it altogether. It took until after he’d wrestled it off altogether to realize that Connor basically had him on display for Anderson.

Gavin turned his head away, scraping up some courage. If he looked back and Anderson was giving him bitchface, he was going to lose his shit.

But...no. That hungry look was still there, even with Connor’s pale chest almost totally blocked from view by Gavin’s tanned and fuzzy one.

“Do you live at the gym?” Anderson asked. It didn’t come out snarky. Admiring, maybe.

“Missing the old days?” Gavin shot back on instinct.

“Nah,” said Anderson. “I had a little less padding, but I was never really toned. Not like that. Nice job.” He actually started to reach a hand out—and fuck, if his hands weren’t enormous.

Gavin thought he might have done it without thinking, because he flinched back a little with wide eyes, like Gavin was an electric fence he’d almost grabbed.

Anderson looked up.

Shocking _himself_ , Gavin offered a little nod. Then that huge fucking hand was on his chest, right between his pecs, and sliding down over the low ridges of his abs. He could _feel_ Connor give a pleased hum behind him.

Anderson’s fingers were softer than Gavin expected, and felt hot even in spite of how worked up he himself was.

When the last trailing fingertip snagged at the waistband of his jeans and made a little dip behind it to stroke the skin below, Gavin’s vision went a little gray at the edges.

Hedging his bets, Anderson stepped back, but he made a little rumbly, approving noise.

Gavin decided right away he hated liking it so much. Still, there was no way in blue hell he was going to freeze and let Connor just strip him bare, so he turned and took a good handful of Connor’s dark hair, hauling him in for another kiss.

To his delight, Connor grabbed his free hand and pressed it to his crotch.

It never failed to trip Gavin out how unearthly fast Connor could get hard. He was filled out and throbbing in three seconds flat every time, no matter how many times he’d come—like somebody had just reached right into Gavin’s fantasies and set one down in front of him.

Giving a pleased growl, Gavin sucked hard on Connor’s lower lip and slid his hand out of his hair to start unfastening his pants. Finally—fucking _finally_ —he was into the groove and ready to perform. It had been a few years, but he knew how to hold an audience.

Connor’s pants were undone, but when he went to push them down over his hips, Gavin pulled his hands away. Instead, he yanked hard on the waistband to spin him around, facing the chair.

_Check it out, Anderson. This is what I can have any time I want._

He latched on and sucked a bit of skin at the base of Connor’s neck between his teeth while he reached into the warmth between fabric and skin to wrap his fingers around that silky cock.

Connor made one of his sweet noises when Gavin tightened his grip. It was no more and no less extravagant a sound than he would have made even if Anderson wasn’t there.

Frankly, Gavin appreciated the hell out of that. He really _wasn’t_ going over the top to put on a show; he was just enjoying whatever came his way...from whoever. With that little ego boost under him, he finally let Connor shimmy out of the pants and let them fall down his long white legs.

“Oh, yeah,” he heard Anderson whisper.

When Gavin looked up, he saw Anderson following the slow strokes of his hand on Connor’s cock. He was clutching himself through his pants, but hadn’t yet unzipped.

A little bump of anxiety; it took half a second for Gavin to figure out what it was all about. He almost fucking laughed when he realized he was hoping the rumors panned out. No way to tell just then. Since he wasn’t above a little self-torture, Gavin took hold of Connor’s hips and pulled him back toward the couch.

When he sat, Connor leaned over, arching his back and pushing his hips out. Putting his incredible ass at perfect height for Gavin to pull those cheeks apart and dive right in.

Which he did.

Even though Connor made amazing noises while getting fucked, the little whimpers and moans he let go when Gavin was eating his ass were a hands-down favorite.

Gavin hummed, savoring.

Connor was already leaking that incredible automatic lube he made. _Stored? Secreted?_ However it worked, three fucking cheers to what Gavin considered Cyberlife’s ultimate engineering achievement.

He fumbled and grabbed Connor’s wrist, pulling it toward him. “Spread it, baby,” he said, trying to sound more commanding and less, well, _begging_. “Spread that ass for me.”

Whining, Connor obeyed, flexing his back even further and tipping his chin up.

Gavin rewarded him with a spit-slick grip on his cock. He was face-first and snuffling in Connor’s sweet ass, but he could swear after a second he heard a zipper.

A gasp from Connor. Then: “ _Hank_.”

It made Gavin’s heart pound and his cock jump. His concentration was toast. He _had_ to see. With a pat to Connor’s ass cheek, he struggled to stand up, pausing to leave a kiss at the base of his spine. “Keep touching yourself,” he muttered.

Connor didn’t hesitate.

Finally, Gavin could get a look over Connor’s shoulder.

Anderson had his shirt unbuttoned over a barrel chest. It was sprinkled with wiry gray hair...and a _tattoo_.

The fuck?

Made Anderson look like an old sailor: the kind who had a teenage kid he’d never met in at least five ports worldwide. He was a little padded out, yeah, but not sagging or slack. Everything just looked meaty. And then…

_Oh, dear God._

He was lightly palming the largest cock Gavin had seen outside of extreme porn videos. Probably not a full footer, but damn close. His gigantic hands didn’t even do much mitigating—not with a fencepost like that. It was jaw-dropping.

Anderson must have caught his stare. He grinned, showing off the tooth gap in full. “I said I’d never live it down,” he told Gavin. “Didn’t say it wasn’t true.”

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Gavin murmured. Where he fully expected to shrivel in sheer awe, though, the exact opposite happened. Blood plunged down so fast into his groin that he got dizzy and had to clutch Connor’s waist.

Before long, his dick was going to be yowling like a house cat to be let outside. He shut his jaw tight to keep from drooling on Connor’s back.

With the next pull of his hand, a shimmering bead of fluid crested on the head of Anderson’s incredible cock and slid down the underside. “Come on, Gav,” he said, his voice at least an octave lower than it was a half second before. “Let’s see the goods. Maybe you could fuck him a little. Get him ready for me.”

Not _Reed_ or even _Gavin_ , but _Gav._ For fucks’ sake. Gavin squeaked like a dog toy.

At least it was half-covered up by Connor’s sweet little moan.

Then Gavin was tearing off his jeans like they were on fire. He only got one foot out before _fuck it_ was the name of the game—literally and figuratively. “Ready, babe?” he managed to mumble.

“Mm,” Connor said. “Yes.”

It was both sweet relief and total torture pushing into that familiar slippery heat.

When Anderson made a surprised noise, Connor held up a hand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it,” he said in a strained voice. “I was engineered with an internal lubricating mechanism. I had forgotten that only Gavin would know.”

“Holy shit,” Anderson said. “That’s incredible.”

Trying not to smile, Gavin let Anderson have his little moment, then he pushed his hips forward, imagining the look on Connor’s face.

“Oh, Gavin…” A long-fingered hand reached back and grabbed Gavin’s thigh.

“Let me see,” Anderson said, wetting his lips.

Gavin took hold of Connor just at the tops of his thighs and guided him until he faced the bedroom.

Connor steadied himself with a hand on the arm of the couch and stroked himself slowly with the other as Gavin began to thrust, long and steady and indulgent.

Gavin was so caught up in watching the muscles (or whatever androids had) in Connor’s back move and flex that he barely registered Anderson getting up out of the chair. He _did_ register—oh, boy, did he ever—when Anderson hauled off and smacked him _hard_ on the ass.

It made him yelp and flinch so hard he slammed his hips forward. Lucky for him, Connor was so steady he might as well be made of marble.

Anderson chuckled. “Rear view is pretty nice, too,” he said. “Can I touch?”

“Uh—” was all Gavin could get out. His butt cheek tingled where that big hand had popped it.

“Not gonna do anything you don’t ask for,” Anderson said. “I just want to feel.”

“Okay…” The palm that touched his stinging skin was crazy warm and gentler than he expected. For half a second he was afraid he was going to have to dodge if Anderson smacked him again or dipped a finger into his cleft.

But he only stroked in little circles for a moment or two. Just before the hot hand disappeared, Anderson leaned in close to Gavin’s ear. His breath was sweet with the whiskey.

“You’d look good over my lap with that ass all pink,” he said.

Gavin just about fucking choked. His fingers tightened around Connor’s hips. He was a hundred percent sure his face was as red as the handprint on his backside. The contrary part of his brain—the part that had to pick a fight or backtalk just to be a jackass about it—wanted to shoot off a snarky reply. _In your fucking dreams,_ or some such. But seeing as he was currently balls deep in his scorching hot android fuck-buddy ( _boyfriend?_ ), the ol’ brain was not functioning on full power.

His cock, on the other hand, decided it _really_ liked the idea of Gavin getting spanked like a schoolboy by Principal Anderson and his ludicrous bear paws.

Connor must have felt it twitch, because he made another one of those sexy little high-pitched sounds and pushed back hard against Gavin.

“Not ignoring you, I promise,” said Anderson, all low and rumbly. He ran a hand up the curve of Connor’s spine and pushed his fingers into his hair, pulling his head back a little just so Connor knew who was boss in this scene.

Spoiler: it was _not_ Gavin Reed.

“Let me give you something, baby,” Anderson told Connor. “Before you give me everything. You _are_ going to give it all up for me, right?”

Connor whined.

The huge hand tightened in his hair.

Gavin felt him tense around his cock and almost whited out.

“Say it,” Anderson growled.

“Yes, Hank,” Connor said, breathy and helpless. “Whatever you want.”

“Good boy.” It was directed at Connor, but damned if Anderson didn’t look up and lock eyes with Gavin while he said it.

Gavin thought he was either going to run screaming or _come_ screaming, and it could have gone either way at that point.

Anderson ditched his shirt and went to his knees.

Connor practically shouted, sitting back hard and tight on Gavin’s cock. He was moving right away, pushing into the sensation.

All Gavin had to do was hold on for the ride. It was pure shock that kept him from blowing his load right then and there. That was what saved him—or at least he guessed it was—when Anderson slipped his free hand behind Connor’s balls to spread him with his first and second fingers. Which _also_ meant that Gavin was pumping his dick into Connor right through the tight _V_ of Anderson’s fingers.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said. The word was an airy squeak. In the middle of all the wet noises, he heard Anderson pull off of Connor’s cock.

“Don’t you dare come,” he said in that low, _don’t-fuck-with-me_ voice.

Might have been to Connor, but no way in hell was Gavin taking that chance. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought about baseball. _Or something_.

“Hank,” Connor said. “ _Please_.” It was flat-out, desperate _pleading_ and it was also blazing hot.

“Hank,” Gavin blurted. _Where had_ that _come from?_

“Uh-uh,” Anderson said, sitting back on his heels.

Gavin could almost but not quite see the goddamn utility pole he was lugging around.

Anderson heaved to his feet, towering over both of them. He teasingly grabbed Connor’s hair again. “He comes on my cock or not at all.”

When he narrowed his eyes and stared at him, Gavin’s heart felt like a chunk of ice in his chest.

Anderson poked a slick, wet finger at him. “And you’re going to keep his pretty mouth busy.”

“...Okay.”

“What was that?”

Gavin’s spine turned to ice, too. He was prepared to dash for the door, but the words had already fallen out of his mouth before he could stop them: “Uh... _yes, sir._ ”

“Correct,” Anderson said. Then he winked. But where Connor’s wink said _I’m going to make you feel incredible_ , Anderson’s said loud and clear: _Don’t try me; I could twist your head off without breaking a sweat._

Gavin’s scalp prickled as his hair stood on end.

His dumbass dick, on the other hand, was _thrilled_.

“Bedroom,” Anderson said.

Gavin nodded and winced as he slipped free for the moment.

Connor was so needy and fucked-out already that he nearly fell when Anderson tugged on his hand, slick wetness shining on the insides of his white thighs.

Whether or not the stumbling was done for effect, it was sexy as hell. If Connor was this compromised by a little teasing, he was going to fall apart getting skewered on Anderson’s titanic cock. The prospect of having to stare at Anderson over a spit roast got a lot less scary when Gavin realized that monster dick would basically be shoving Connor’s hot, tight throat onto Gavin’s own cock. It was almost like being one step away from Gavin himself being....

 _Oh, no, no...he was absolutely_ not _thinking about letting Hank Anderson knock his kidneys around like motherfucking billiard balls…_

_...was he?_

Good God—androids could take some damage, but Gavin tended to like his internal organs right where they were, thank you very much. Too bad his goddamn dick was like a stupid dog: one of these days it was just going to run right into traffic and get them both smashed flat.

Gavin scurried into the bedroom as Anderson pulled a sex-dazed Connor in behind him. It was still really weird being naked and hard and leaking in front of a guy who up to that point had looked at him like the next-to-last wad of toilet paper, but getting to where he could slide over Connor’s soft tongue into his throat was the order of the moment.

He cringed when Anderson pulled his hand back and smacked Connor’s ass, getting little yip from him, too.

“On the bed, boy,” Anderson said in the same jolly-threatening tone you might hear from a group of rednecks throwing beer cans to knock kids off their bikes. “Hands and knees.” He crooked a finger at Gavin. “Get on over here, kid. You’re gonna want to see this.”

He was not wrong.

Around the end of his bed, there was the familiar, heart-thumping sight of Connor’s pale, perfect ass spread and dripping—never mind the pair of hands doing the spreading.

Kneeling on the mattress made Anderson’s belly stick out a little, but he’d have to be the goddamn Michelin Man to lose sight of _that_ cock.

Anyway, seeing him out of his clothes wasn’t as nasty as Gavin had imagined. It wasn’t nasty at all, actually. He had good muscle on his legs and his ass had held up damn well, filled out instead of sagging like old party balloons. Thick forearms and even thicker biceps; plus he was possibly half again as wide in the shoulders as Gavin.

And then, well, the showpiece, which Anderson was currently using to tease Connor, dragging the thick head along his cleft. “Why don’t you ask for it, since you did it so nice the first time,” he said. “Show us how much you can take, honey.”

 _Us_. It was a good five seconds before Gavin realized the strangling pressure around his shaft was his own hand, squeezing a long strand of fluid that slid down the underside and over his fingers.

“Please, Hank,” Connor said, a little rippling shiver running up his spine. “I—I need...your cock inside me.”

Someone made a heady little groan, and it could have been any of the three of them.

Anderson patted Connor’s hip. “Yeah, I know you want it. I’ll go real slow.” Then he was finally pushing in.

Connor did nothing less than yell as the head slipped in; a couple inches more and there was pretty much _the entire length of Gavin’s cock_ still to go.

“ _Hank_ —”

“Feel good?”

A whimper. “So big…”

“Yeah, but you can take it, Connor. Show Gavin here how good you can be.”

Again, not a nickname or his last name but full-on _Gavin_. He’d eased up the grip on his dick, but hearing his honest-to-God name come out of Anderson’s mouth made him clamp down again. Gavin hoped it wouldn’t take too long to get it all in; he suddenly needed to come so bad his balls were on fire.

“Just a little more, baby,” Anderson crooned. “You’re doing so good.”

Connor was positively writhing, but he wasn’t trying to twist away—just letting Anderson slide in the last couple inches of his fucking gorilla dick.

When he bottomed out with a grunt, Connor hummed like he’d just had a five-course dinner and started pushing back. _Needy little bitch._ The fact that he’d done the same thing tons of times with Gavin at the helm was reassuring.

Like he’d said, it’s just sex, whether your ride is a pony or, well, an elephant.

With another, lighter slap to Connor’s left cheek, Anderson turned slightly to look over at Gavin. “If you’re getting any bright ideas...you just tell me later.” He followed that on with another wink. This one wasn’t a threat, though.

It was a goddamn _dare_.

“Get on up there,” Anderson told Gavin. To Connor, he said, “You’re a perfect fit, baby. We’re gonna start off easy, but by the end you’ll be begging me to go hard.”

Connor looked up when Gavin made it to the other side of the bed, painfully stiff cock in hand. Of course, he wasn’t sweaty or flushed, but his eyes looked a little out of focus and his pink lips were shining wet.

With a short but definitely noticeable thrust, Anderson told Connor, “Go on. Get that cock in your mouth. You’re going to look so good.”

A dying man in the Sahara couldn’t have reached for a cup of water faster than Connor grabbed at Gavin’s dick, pulling him off balance before swallowing him whole.

“Fuck!” Gavin shouted, bracing one hand on Connor’s shoulder. It slid over the smooth skin, but only because _his_ palm was sweating.

“Mm, yeah, you want it, don’t you?” Anderson asked Connor, trailing a gigantic hand up his back. “Love fucking you onto another cock, boy.”

Jesus! Gavin’s dirty talk game was bush league, but Anderson’s was all-pro.

Just then, Connor made a noise around Gavin’s cock that vibrated all the way up his spine.

“Good,” said Anderson. “I know you want to come, but you’ve got to wait. You make Gavin feel good, you swallow every drop, then I’ll think about letting you come.”

Usually, Gavin would feel pressured by something like that, which could make his body refuse to cooperate for a while, but at that point the cannon was loaded and the torch was lit. He could blow just about any time.

Letting go of an indulgent whine, Gavin shoved his fingers into Connor’s hair. “Like that, baby. I’m so close.” He looked up to Anderson’s expectant stare. “Gonna fill up your pretty mouth,” he added.

Another bone-jingling hum from Connor, another couple of half-assed thrusts, and Gavin felt that release like smoking tire tracks up his thighs and through his hips. It hit so hard he almost bent double, making Connor have to lunge forward to keep his cock in his mouth.

Anderson followed like it was nothing, slamming his hips forward and shoving Gavin into the ridiculously tight channel of Connor’s throat as his cock emptied. As usual, there was no “swallowing” movement, but whatever was back there gripped Gavin tight and took everything he gave.

A stream of _Fuck fuck fuck_ trailed off and turned into sobbing little breaths as the surge of pleasure peaked and then backed away. Gavin backed away, too, watching with a last stab of want as a thin stream of spit and come fell from Connor’s lower lip and onto the sheets.

“Mm. Was that good?” Anderson asked, pressed tight against Connor’s thighs and ass.

“Yes...so good.”

“Pardon me?” Anderson asked.

Connor looked up at Gavin with a question written all over his face.

Gavin whispered back as quietly as he could. Thank God Connor had super android hearing.

“Oh,” he said to Anderson. “Yes, sir. I liked it. Very, very much.”

“Excellent,” Anderson said. He used one monster hand to push down between Connor’s shoulders. “Down on your elbows, now. You get ready to come when I tell you to.”

“Yes, sir,” Connor managed. It was a pained-sounding moan.

He looked down the long slope of Connor’s back to Gavin, who was still panting and red-faced. “Gavin, hold his wrists. Don’t want him touching himself.”

Gavin echoed it right away, moving to pin Connor’s hands to the bed with a firm grip. Even though he was someone who had a tough time taking orders at work (or anywhere else, let’s be honest), giving in _here_ and letting Anderson run the show was hotter than it had any right to be.

After a first gasp, Connor set to whimpering, rubbing his soft cheek against and nuzzling Gavin’s arm in complete desperation as Anderson started pumping into him, skin slapping against skin. It sounded rough and wet and incredible.

Connor squirmed on that merciless cock and dug his fingers into the sheets.

With quick glances up, Gavin could see Anderson losing his cool bit by bit, breathing hard and chewing on his lip as he slammed into Connor over and over.

“You ready, baby?” he asked, breathless. A drop of sweat fell from his bearded chin and splashed onto Connor’s back.

“Yes! Please, Hank. Please!”

“You’ve been so good,” Anderson ground out. “Come for me, Con.”

Because he could choose when to go off—not to mention be ready to do it again pretty much right afterward without ever getting soft—Connor didn’t waste a second. He pushed his mouth against the inside of Gavin’s elbow, but that still didn’t do much to muffle the shout.

It was a little funny that he ground back against Anderson almost hard enough to shove him off the edge of the bed as he came. Gavin didn’t even dare to smile. Anyhow, he was too caught up feeling all the ways Connor twisted and wriggled as he let loose with all that synthetic come.

Right in the middle of Connor’s for-real twenty-second orgasm, Anderson hunched over and yelled, “Ah, _fuck_!”

Gavin knew at once he’d done that _thing_ inside that felt like one of those finger-trap gag toys grabbing your dick. That time, he _did_ chuckle.

“Goddamn, you’re tight,” Anderson growled, giving a sharp smack to Connor’s butt. “Gonna fill your hot little ass right up.” His last few thrusts were so powerful they almost made _Gavin’s_ teeth knock together. If he’d been the one taking it, he was pretty sure his eyeballs would have popped out of his skull by then.

He was also fairly sure by then he’d be okay with it.

Couple more seconds and Anderson shouted behind clenched teeth and gripped Connor hard. If androids could bruise, his hips would be black and blue the next day. Anderson seemed to come forever, too, but it wasn’t surprising considering the fucking four-hour road trip from balls to tip.

Finally, he eased up, sighing like a tired horse and patting Connor’s hip. He broke out into a lazy grin, the funky gap in his teeth making it look almost... _cute_. Then he pulled right out and motioned with his chin at Gavin. “Get over here,” he said.

Suddenly on guard, Gavin still obeyed, wandering over to Anderson’s side. He was glad he did, though; Connor looked delicious. His legs were splayed out, his back bent deep. Wetness still shone on his thighs and his hairless balls, but now a trail of come slid lazily down, just starting to drip onto the bed.

Gavin breathed out, his spent dick managing a twitch.

“Go on,” Anderson said, tapping Gavin’s shoulder.

“Huh…?”

Well, pausing to question was a mistake, because Anderson frowned and grabbed a handful of Gavin’s hair, pushing his head forward.

“Get your tongue in there, boy.”

Did Gavin want to? _Irrelevant._

With another shove, his face was jammed between Connor’s cheeks and his tongue was out and lapping at the familiar texture and contours. It wasn’t any secret: Gavin loved eating ass. He’d been doing it so long with Connor exclusively that he wasn’t used to there being a taste anymore. Now, he could definitely make out a sour-sweet and _human_ flavor. God fucking help him, despite the fact that it was Hank Anderson’s come, stars burst behind his eyelids just tasting _man_ again. The hand in his hair loosened up and then disappeared as Gavin grabbed those firm thighs tight and jabbed his tongue in deep, sealed his lips over that warm, slippery flesh and _sucked._

Nor did it matter one bit that Anderson had finally decided to go for the gold, sliding one wetted fingertip in between Gavin’s ass cheeks and stroking.

He didn’t panic over anything further; Anderson was no android and he definitely couldn’t get it back up fast enough to shove in even if either of them wanted it. He just made low, approving sounds, content with teasing for the moment while Gavin was slobbering away on Connor’s thoroughly used ass.

He clearly wanted to throw one more curveball, though. When Gavin pulled away from Connor at last, he didn’t even get a chance to wipe off before Anderson took a firm hold of his chin and smashed their lips together right before shoving his tongue into Gavin’s mouth. It wasn’t too sloppy—the guy had some practice, even if it wasn’t recent. But it was still nasty enough for Gavin’s liking. He grabbed hold of one giant bicep and gleefully spat back Anderson’s own come into his mouth.

The fact that he took it and went searching Gavin’s mouth for more with a dirty, needy grunt made it that much better.

When they broke it off, Gavin looked over to see Connor staring at them with surprise, satisfaction, and want—all at the same time.

Anderson obviously read his face pretty well. “Oh, hell no,” he said, taking hold of his limp but still impressive dick. “If you’re that insatiable, get _him_ to take care of it.”

“I’m very satisfied, Hank,” Connor said. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” said Anderson. He pushed back some of the strands of hair that had come loose from the ponytail back behind his ears. “Didn’t know what to expect, but that was fun.” He looked at Gavin. “You want a drink?”

“Uh...I can get it.”

“Nah,” he said, “kick back. I’ll bring it in.”

Looked like Don’t-Question-Me Dom had been retired for the evening.

The three of them ended up sitting buck naked on the bed, Gavin and Anderson sipping on that amazing whiskey. Gavin had to keep reminding himself to shut his dangling jaw.

Uptight Detective Anderson was a surly piece of shit. Just-fucked _Hank_ ended up being chill, easygoing, and _funny._ He gave Gavin and Connor the low-down on the infamous dick-measuring contest, along with a ton of other department shenanigans that had gone down before their time.

Gavin could probably count laughing at all the dumbshit stories as an ab workout. He didn’t even mind letting go of the remaining half-bottle of whiskey when Anderson was getting ready to head back out into the chilly night.

Before he left, though, when Connor was busy packing up the booze, he leaned over to Gavin with a predatory grin and whispered, “Shame he doesn’t get all pink, but if you need to blow off steam, you just find us an interview room and I’ll spank that ass ‘til it glows.”

Gavin only just managed to suppress a squeak by swallowing hard. Every part of his body but one went limp and noodly.

With a last surreptitious pat to Gavin’s pajama-clad butt, Anderson was out the door, whistling cheerfully.

Connor and Gavin enjoyed a hot shower then changed the sheets. Connor didn’t sleep, but he said he’d be more than happy to hang out in bed, at least until Gavin was snoring away. He didn’t even mind when Gavin flopped a head full of wet hair down on his chest.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Connor asked.

“Yeah. Lot more than I thought I would. Your fuckin’ mouth is amazing, babe.” Gavin looked up, then flipped a damp lock of hair with his finger. “Your everything, really. Like, your brain, too, and stuff.”

That earned a smile, and a cool fingertip drawn along the scar over the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Gavin. I’m very fond of you, as well.” He was quiet for a  while, then he said, “You were worried that Hank wouldn’t find you attractive or want to engage with you sexually.”

Gavin’s shoulders hunched up some. He hugged Connor’s waist. “That obvious, huh?”

“Sort of. But I was sure you had nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah,” said Gavin, still a little disbelieving. “You were right.”

Connor stroked his forehead. “I found it very arousing when you and Hank kissed.”

Poking one finger lightly into Connor’s artificial ribs, a suggestion of promised tickling, Gavin asked, “And not only because I just finished licking his come out of your ass?”

Tutting, Connor said, “Crude.”

“You like it. You liked Anderson’s dirty mouth.”

“I’m pretty sure you can call him ‘Hank’ now,” Connor said with a laugh.

“Yeah, probably.”

“And yes, it was also arousing hearing him talk like that.” Connor paused. “Androids are programmed to help humans, to serve their needs. I wonder if programming doesn’t play a role in how fulfilling I found it to follow Hank’s commands.”

Another poke to the ribs. “Well, if you are then I must have the same programming, ‘cause he’s unbelievable at it. If he pulls rank and gives me an order at work after tonight, I might just come in my pants.”

Connor poked right back, just under the armpit, which always made Gavin squirm. “You might come out of them, too, if you allow Hank to do what he suggested to you by the door.”

Gavin jerked away, embarrassed all over again. “You _heard_ that?”

With a smile, Connor tapped his ear. “‘Android super hearing,’ as you call it.”

“Aw, Jesus.”

“I enjoyed it when Hank slapped me there. Why shouldn’t you?”

“Oh, _did_ you?” Gavin nestled back in. “So, what did it feel like?”

“When he spanked me?” Connor asked.

“No. You know what I mean.”

“Ah,” said Connor. “It may feel different to me than it would to you. Our internal structures are not the same.”

“You’re not much help. Jeez. Did it hurt?”

“No. My sensor array does allow me to experience pain on penetration if I choose, but it doesn’t appeal to me.”

Gavin huffed a sigh. “Me, neither.”

“From what I understand, you would need to relax as much as possible in order to be receptive.”

“Well, that’s the name of the game usually,” Gavin said. “But there’s _you_ , and then there’s _that_.”

Connor took Gavin’s hand and raised it to his lips, brushing them over the knuckles. “There is no need to have Hank penetrate you as a point of pride.”

“Ugh, awkward.”

“Sorry,” Connor said. He winked and squeezed Gavin’s hand. “You don’t have to take his cock to prove you’re brave.” A couple seconds of quiet, then: “But the way you moved your body just then tells me it’s a thing you’re considering.”

Gavin rolled his eyes and slapped Connor’s thigh lightly. “I need to go to sleep. And _you_ need to stop playing Sherlock fucking Holmes about my sex fantasies.”

Connor put a soft hand on Gavin’s cheek. “Then how will I learn how to make them a reality?”

If a guy could blush over his entire body, then Gavin did it just then. He craned up for a kiss. “Aw, shit, Con,” he said. “You already do.”

 

**

 

Being back at the precinct office a day or two later wasn’t weird at all. Not that Gavin had expected it to be, given the way they’d left it. The only thing he might be worried about was the rest of the squad noticing how the dynamic between him and Anderson— _Hank_ —had changed...and wondering what had done the trick.

To hell with it. Even if they speculated and gossiped, _they_ didn’t get to fuck a ridiculously hot android on the regular, or get bossed around by a two-hundred-plus-pound chunk of hot bear daddy with a cock to match.

The night with Hank had sent Gavin’s already-high libido right through the roof. And even though Connor was more than happy to oblige with his own supercharged sex drive, there was an itch in the back of Gavin’s head that wouldn’t go away. It had a name, and a face...and a dick.

Rational Gavin absolutely knew that if he chickened out halfway down that pole, Hank wouldn’t push him. Knuckle-dragging man-ape Gavin wanted to pound his chest in triumph after one motherfucker of an achievement.

 _A point of pride_ , just like Connor had said.

He did, in fact, get so jumpy and worked-up about it at times that he seriously thought about dragging Hank into an empty interrogation room to dole out an ass-walloping just so he could decompress.

Gavin was into torturing himself a little, but not to the point that it got annoying, so he finally said something to Connor about it one evening. “I know you’re going to say ‘you don’t have to,’” he said. “But I think I want to.”

“You think?” Connor asked.

“I mean I do. I do,” Gavin insisted, rolling over to his back in the bed. “But...I want to, you know, make it work. Be good at it.”

“Succeed.”

“Yeah.” He held up a hand. “And yes, before you say that, too, I know it’s not a big deal if I don’t. Not to you or Hank. But it is to me.”

Connor nodded, putting his hand right in the middle of Gavin’s chest. “Perhaps we should wait until you’re more comfortable with Hank here. It could require making his presence routine, but I don’t see you having much of a problem with that.”

Disappointed, Gavin said, “Yeah. Could be.”

“Regardless,” Connor told him, “I’ll support you whenever you decide you’re ready. Even if that’s a decision you never make.”

Sniffling, Gavin held back tears. “How the fuck are you so cool, huh?”

“I was built this way.”

When Gavin looked up, Connor was wearing a wicked grin.

“I hate you,” he said with absolute fondness.

The grin only got bigger. “I know.”

 

**

 

To Gavin’s reeling mind, which had been marinating in desperate horny want for a couple of weeks by then, the only thing to do to break the ice for good between him and Hank was to bite the bullet and take him up on his scandalous offer.

Interview Five was one of two soundproofed rooms in the precinct building. Because let’s face it: sometimes shithead felons needed roughing up. It was a sure thing that generations of Detroit cops had fucked in both rooms—sometimes each other, sometimes suspects, even though the second one was never a good idea.

Almost shaking in his sneakers, Gavin was about to page Hank to Interview Five for something resembling the first one. The shakiness didn’t get a whole lot better when Hank swept into the room with a predatory smile on his face, throwing the door open with enough force that it smacked into the drywall. He half-turned and hauled it closed again, not seeming to care if the slam was heard all the way around the building.

“You don’t have to tell me ‘I told you so,’” Gavin said, managing not to stutter.

“I’ll tell you whatever I damn well please,” Hank said. “Now, turn around and put your hands on that table.”

Gavin had turned on his heel and slapped his palms down on the cool metal a good three seconds before he remembered to keep breathing.

Hank wasted no time getting all up in his business, pushing his crotch hard against Gavin’s ass and leaning over to put his face right next to Gavin’s ear. “Couldn’t resist, huh? Already blushing so pretty when I walked in. You don’t want to want it as much as you do.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You don’t have to hold back. I won’t tell anybody what a _slut_ you are.”

Gavin’s brain was pissy and indignant right off the bat.

Gavin’s dick was jumping for joy, and that was enough to keep his hands where they were.

Backing away a little, Hank said, “Well, maybe I’ll tell Connor for the next time he fucks you.” He snagged one of Gavin’s belt loops with a finger and jerked it around until a stitch popped. “Oh, he’s a little whore, too. I’m very aware. The only difference is he doesn’t feel bad about it.”

His face burning, Gavin reminded himself to take a little breath so he didn’t pass the fuck out.

Hank stepped closer again, this time reaching around with both hands to pop the button on Gavin’s jeans and start pulling the zipper down. “That’s kind of why you’re so fun. Don’t get me wrong, I’m gonna use him good next time, too.”

“Never said there’d be a next time.” Gavin felt the need to backtalk like a primal urge.

Hank jerked his jeans down his legs in one go. “Was gonna go hard on you anyway, but I’ll go twice as hard if you keep lying to me, boy.”

Gavin’s cock twitched and leaked a little against the cotton of his boxer briefs. He tried not to whimper.

Mercifully, Hank took a little more care easing those down, but it left Gavin bare-assed and getting hard like it was his job.

“No backing out now,” Hank said, sounding smug as hell. “You’re in this until I say otherwise. Move your hands and you get more. Ask how much longer, you get more. Bitch about it or ask me to stop, and I’ll give you the belt. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” And not a goddamn moment wasted—that huge hand cracked down on Gavin’s left cheek.

A shock, but not too bad. He was telling himself that until about a minute in, when shit started to sting. He bit his lip and ducked his head and waited for Hank to ease up.

Which he did _not_.

At the very least, he wasn’t sticking to one spot: bringing heavy slaps down on the sides of Gavin’s ass and even up close to his tailbone. When Hank smacked the shit out of that tender little spot right at the top of Gavin’s thigh, he yelped and squirmed.

Hank didn’t say a goddamn thing, only put his free hand in the middle of Gavin’s back and pushed his upper body down toward the table.

While Gavin was straining against it, Hank gleefully walloped the other thigh.

“Fuck!”

“Was that a complaint?” Hank asked.

Gavin went down on his elbows, his misery and regret spiking up. “No, sir.”

Too fucking bad Hank had figured out his weak spots, because a couple more nasty slaps right under the cheek and Gavin was blinking away tears. He gritted his teeth.

At some point, right when he was planning a Hollywood-style stunt roll across the table and damn the consequences, something weird happened. He sort of... _slipped into it_ , got hypnotized. There was a rhythm, and the sharp burn had spread out to a kind of warmth that ran all the way from Gavin’s knees to his shoulders. He felt weird and loose, like after a massage.

Finally, when his eyes were glazing over, the slaps stopped. Gavin almost turned around with a _What the fuck?_ when he remembered it would pull his hands off the table. He was a little sweaty, catching a whiff of his deodorant working overtime from underneath his shirt, and breathing hard.

But otherwise... _surprisingly okay?_

A big, warm hand returned to his ass, but this time it was gentle. Hank stroked his skin just like he had when Gavin was fucking Connor in front of his couch.

Gavin was pushing back into the touch before he knew what he was doing.

The hand moved away and coasted over his hair, lightly massaging the back of his neck.

“Good job, kid,” Hank told him. The soft tone was a hard one-eighty from his command voice. “You took that so well. I’m proud of you.”

As if that by itself didn’t make Gavin suddenly want to break down crying like a bitch, Hank pulled him close and kissed his temple.

He ducked his head to avoid showing his face and prayed to a God he might decide to start believing in that he wouldn’t crack.

“And you look good,” Hank went on. “Really fucking good.” He skimmed his hand over Gavin’s ass for another second or two, then he slid it right around front and wrapped Gavin’s cock in his fingers.

It was the first time he registered being insanely hard.

Close up, Hank smelled like aftershave and dryer sheets and skin. He wrapped one arm around Gavin’s waist and used the other to work his cock.

He’d be doing it for a minute tops; Gavin was good and ready to shoot off and he fucking _deserved it_. When he did come, it was hard and all over the floor underneath the table, feeling like it had been dragged out of him all the way from the tips of his fingers and toes. He pulled in a huge breath when Hank let go of his waist to squeeze the last few drops of come from his spent cock.

A quick pat on the top of one of his hands.

“You can move these now,” Hank said.

With arms and legs wobbly, Gavin stood up, feeling like he could conk out for a ten-hour nap.

“I’ll let you get dressed and clean up,” Hank told him.

Gavin turned. “Do you need—?”

Hank waved it away. “Nah. When we meet up at your place again. You and Connor just tell me when.”

Then he was out the door.

After Gavin had zipped up, it was a hassle dashing out to grab napkins to wipe up his jizz, and a trial to sit down for the rest of the day, but he actually felt like something had broken inside his head. In a good way. He felt a little invincible, even, like after closing a hot case.

Connor didn’t say a damn word when he caught sight of the little dots of bruising. He only kissed the skin gently, then made that little appreciative hum he always did and proceeded to tongue-fuck Gavin’s ass for half an hour straight.

 

**

 

Connor asked if he wanted another bottle of good booze for the night they decided to invite Hank over again, but Gavin said he didn’t need it. He’d been feeling weirdly on top of the world since the encounter in the interrogation room—like he could take on anything.

And yes, that included the hugest cock he’d ever personally encountered.

Gavin had asked Connor—who hadn’t needed much persuading at all—to fuck him earlier in the day. Even if it didn’t _literally_ loosen things up, it got him in the groove. Anyway, a guy would be right out of his mind to turn down getting absolutely railed by someone as hot (and sweet) as Connor at every opportunity.

That evening, Hank surprised them both by showing up with a fifth of top-quality bourbon. Real Kentucky shit.

Way more surprising than that was the way he greeted both of them. Connor had answered the door, treating Gavin to the unexpectedly steamy sight of Hank hauling him in for a deep kiss. Connor managed to look flustered afterward, and that made Gavin wonder whether he’d be able to wait long enough to open the liquor.

Knowing Connor thought it was sexy, he went right in when Hank slid his big hand around the back of his neck. Even better, he came out of the long and heart-pounding kiss realizing he’d _wanted_ it, too.

“God _damn_ ,” Hank muttered, setting the booze down, “I’m really fucking spoiled.”

After Gavin got his first stinging sip of the bourbon, Connor sauntered right over to lick the sweetness out of his mouth, at the same time slotting his lean thigh right underneath Gavin’s balls and grinding a little.

It was a damn good sign that he was already seeing stars behind his eyelids.

They moved into the living room, with Hank sprawling right out over most of the couch. Gavin parked his ass in the armchair, but when Connor went to sit on the single free cushion, Hank said, “Uh-uh. I think you need to get those pants off and lay right here.” He patted his lap. “I want something to play with while I finish my drink.”

Connor looked right over to Gavin, who nodded.

“Yes, sir,” Connor said, soft and submissive. He ditched the pants, looking both innocent and totally dirty with his collar still buttoned up and the shirttail just brushing the crease under his gorgeous ass.

Gavin was practically drooling as Connor lowered himself across the couch, his hips over Hank’s big thighs. He was pretty sure they talked for a while, but fuck if he could remember what any of it was about, because pretty soon Hank moved from stroking and patting Connor’s cheeks to dipping a finger between them.

He wore a satisfied smile, taking his time with the bourbon and steadily fucking a whimpering Connor with two fingers while Gavin could only stare and get hard, his own drink practically forgotten.

Finally, Hank set the glass to one side and slipped his fingers free. “So, were you a little jealous?” he asked Connor, lightly tapping him at the small of his back. “I mean, seeing my handiwork on Gavin’s tight little ass.”

Connor actually pushed his hips up, digging his fingers into the beat-up couch cushion. He made a brief sound but didn’t say anything.

The loud whack of Hank’s hand on his butt made Gavin wince in sympathy.

“Yes, sir! Yes, sir.” The look Connor flashed Gavin told him _without a doubt_ that he’d done it on purpose.

“Better,” Hank declared. “But you’re absolutely not getting out of this. Gotta be fair.” He raised his hand and stabbed a finger in Gavin’s direction. “Do _not_ touch yourself. You’ll sit there and watch. Anyway, I think someone likes showing off.”

Gavin gripped the arms of the chair like he was in a nose-diving airplane, fully prepared to be screaming with want by the time Hank was finished with Connor.

Which turned out to be a long-ass wait. Hank had to pause and shake out his hand a couple of times mid-wallop. Weird as hell to see his palm go blotchy red and Connor’s cheeks stay creamy white.

That sure didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling it, though. Near the end, he looked close to ripping up chunks of the sofa with his hands, his forehead pressed hard onto the fabric.

A sparkly line of sweat was standing out near Hank’s hairline by the time he finished. He exhaled, a little exhausted, and slid a finger back inside Connor so quickly he jumped. “I’m using my belt on you next time for sure,” he said, twisting the finger. “Such a little slut for it. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Connor moaned.

Another twist of the finger. “Say it.”

Connor squeezed his eyes shut and whined. “I’m...a little slut.”

Mother _fuck_ —watching Connor grovel for Sexy Dom Hank was hotter than July Fourth, and it had Gavin dumping sweat into the fabric of the armchair, his fingers itching.

With a final pat to Connor’s upraised ass, Hank said, “Good boy. Go grab me some lube, huh? Then I want you to sit right in that chair. Open your shirt but don’t take it off. You can touch yourself, but if you come before I say so, I’ll give you an ass-whipping you’ll feel for a month.”

Looking pouty (probably on purpose, too), Connor got up and headed to the bedroom.

Hank slapped his knee and looked at Gavin. “Your turn.” Seeing Gavin’s surprised look, he tipped his head back and laughed, a huge sound in the small space. “Don’t worry. My hand needs a rest. Just gonna open you up a little before the main event.”

Shaky with relief and anticipation at the same time, Gavin got up, his t-shirt sticking to his back. He left it on, though, just ditching the pants and briefs. His swollen cock fit right between Hank’s thighs, and he swore the sadistic asshole squeezed them tight together just to torture him.

Connor came back in with the little bottle of lube, handing it over to Hank before parking his bare ass where Gavin had been sitting.

Gavin felt two warm fingers spread him apart and heard Hank murmur, “Fucking gorgeous.” Then a thick and slippery fingertip was sliding inside him and he let his eyes close, savoring the sensation. Hank’s fingers were so meaty that Gavin was starting to feel a slight stretch after the second.

He flinched when Hank growled and told him, “You’re gonna take four.”

A helpless little noise from Connor.

Gavin looked over to see his pale legs splayed, back curved into the chair and biting his lip hard as he tried to keep the strokes on his cock slow and even. A gorgeous damn sight if ever there was one. There was something extra delicious about making a machine lose control, even though these days Gavin didn’t really think of Connor as anything but _a regular guy who didn’t taste or smell like anything._

And who happened to be underwear-model pretty.

Connor’s little show had to be part of some unspoken plan between him and Hank, because Gavin had gotten so caught up watching that he barely registered a third slick finger easing in. The fact that it wasn’t tough to take, that it was just pretty much the next logical step, sent his confidence sky-high. He was squirming and pushing back against Hank’s knuckles in a hot second.

“That’s right, boy,” Hank told him. “Show me how much you want it.”

Connor whined.

“Cut that shit out,” Hank snapped, using that fake-real irritation he did so well. “If you’re patient, I’ll sit him on your cock while I suck him off a little. If you can’t handle that, you won’t be coming until both of us are done. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” It came out strained.

Then, Hank said, “One more, Gavin. Be good for me.”

Fuck, if it wasn’t strange as hell feeling totally desperate to please a guy that he wouldn’t have given the time of day a couple weeks ago. But, boy, did Gavin want to. “I’ll be good,” he babbled, all in a rush. “I’ll be good.” When the slick motion paused for a second, he tacked on, “ _Sir_.”

An approving rumble and Gavin felt a little more cool lube slide down the length of Hank’s fingers.

He took a deep breath and let Hank work that fourth finger inside. Past the first pinch of discomfort, there was nothing but an amazing fullness. It didn’t mean that sitting on Hank’s cock wouldn’t feel different, considering it was about twice as long, but Gavin took it as a good sign.

And then he just _took it_. To hell with anticipation, to hell with _dignity_ —he shoved his ass up into that touch until he could feel knobby knuckles on either side of his stretched rim.

Hank hummed, sounding infinitely pleased. “Sorry, Connor. It looks like I’m going to have to haul this greedy little whore into the bedroom and fuck him deep. I want you to watch for a while.”

The fingers pulled out with a wet, filthy sound, leaving Gavin empty and tingling. A firm smack on his bruised ass made him jump to stand up on shaky legs.

“I’m going to get out of these clothes,” Hank said. “You two get in the bedroom. Gavin, I want you over the edge of the bed. If you aren’t there and Connor isn’t on his knees with his tongue in your ass when I come in, there’s going to be trouble. Got it?”

Both gave the _Yes, sir_ at the same time, then were booking it out of the room like the house was on fire.

“Are you sure?” Connor asked when they reached the bedside.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Connor leaned in and kissed his lips, short and very sweet. “It’s going to feel good.”

Gavin shot a look toward the door. “I know. Hurry.” He put his elbows on the mattress, feeling Connor’s long fingers spreading him a second or two before that hot, soft tongue started lapping away.

“Mm, that’s a hell of a sight.” Hank was in the doorway.

Gavin expected him to pull Connor away and go right at him from behind, but Hank walked around them and hopped up onto the bed, lying on his back, his mind-numbingly huge cock held straight up with one mind-numbingly huge hand.

“That’s enough,” he said. In his free hand was the bottle of lube. He held it out toward Gavin. “Get it nice and slick. Once we start, we’re not stopping. You’re gonna get up here and ease back on me ‘til you take it all.”

The phrase _moment of truth_ Gavin realized was probably way better suited to something more life-or-death than sitting on a gargantuan dick, but it was in his head nonetheless. With Connor standing behind him, Gavin climbed up to straddle Hank’s legs, his aching cock trailing a thin strand of fluid along one beefy thigh. If he used up most of the damn bottle, it’d be for a good cause; no way was he going to leave even a quarter-inch uncovered.

A big knot rose up in his throat when he reached out and actually touched that monster member with a palmful of lube. It felt as big and hard as a steel fucking beam. Hank sure must have been ready for it, though, because Gavin was _very_ pleasantly surprised at how _undone_ he looked for a second while he stroked the slippery liquid over his length.

Gavin was going to make it his goal to get that look again before the night was over. Spreading his legs a little wider to fit over Hank’s hips—because there wasn’t anywhere that he wasn’t broad as fuck—he gripped that slicked-up pole and guided it, the thickness flat-out amazing and honestly making him pucker a bit.

Then he breathed deep again and started to work his way down. Taking that fat head was the hardest, just because it usually was. Gavin braced one hand on Hank’s pretty generous belly and told himself to relax. And yeah, it did get better...up until the last three or four inches.

Christ, it felt like Hank’s cock was already prodding his diaphragm and crowding his lungs. He was taking in short little gasps of air.

Hank put a hand on his chest and one on his thigh, keeping his hips totally still. “Deep breath, baby. You’re doing great. You feel amazing. Just a little more.”

It was the “baby” that pushed Gavin past that final barrier in his mind. Sure as hell felt like it knocked something loose lower down, too, because his spine went soft and he sank the rest of the way until he felt his ass land on Hank’s hip bones. That pulled out some sort of embarrassing noise. “Fuck,” he followed up, squeaky as a rusty hinge. “Don’t touch me yet. _Please_. I’ll come.”

“Oh, no, no, baby,” Hank said, giving a lazy grin. He reached out but put his hands on Gavin’s thighs instead. “You gotta hold out a little longer for me.” The fucker flexed his ab muscles, making that enormous cock twitch inside.

Gavin let out another sob-squeak.

Giving no time for recovery, Hank pulled down on Gavin’s legs and pistoned his hips up at the same time.

It punched a gasp out of Gavin’s throat. His back arched, and he didn’t realized he’d almost knocked his skull against Connor’s until Connor put a supporting hand on the crown of his head and bore him up.

“ _Fucking hell_ ,” Gavin gritted out.

“How’s he look, Con?” Hank asked in a pleasure-strained voice.

“Amazing,” Connor said right away. “Beautiful.”

“Sure does,” Hank purred. “And feels it, too. Wrapped so tight around my cock.” He held Gavin’s waist tightly with paws so big his goddamn fingertips almost touched, and moved him upward. “Stay there and don’t move. Gonna fuck up into you a little. Let me do all the work, you’re just gonna be a good boy and take it.”

“I will be good,” Gavin repeated. He was a little breathless but not in pain, adrenaline slamming through him in crazy waves. With Hank’s hands around his waist and thrusting slow, and Connor gripping his hips from behind, he let his mind check the fuck out for once and handed the reins over to his body. His dick was understandably happy with the whole situation, leaving little wet spots as it slapped down on Hank’s belly.

Right when it was getting to the point that it was hard to hold off spattering that hunk of man flesh with supercharged come, Hank piped up.

“Connor, I want you in here.”

Gavin flinched.

From his tone of voice, Connor was just as confused. “What do you mean?”

More of the fake-annoyed tone, though it was getting tougher for Hank to hold it. “Come on, think. You do it all the time. Fuck his ass. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

His eyes going wide, Gavin tensed up. _Was he…? Oh, holy shit…_ “Hank,” he whined. “I can’t—”

“Shh. Yes, you can. I know you can.”

“No—”

More sharply, Hank said, “Don’t talk back to me. You can do it.” Then more softly: “Come on. Make me proud.”

God-fucking-damn him. He had to find that weak spot in Gavin’s psyche and poke at it. “Okay,” he tried to say, but no sound came out. He hoped Connor saw the little nod.

He must have, because there was tentative pressure right alongside the base of Hank’s cock where it entered Gavin’s body. It got firmer, more insistent. There was a definite ache to the stretch now.

Gavin hauled air into his lungs and waited, every nerve in his body screaming.

There was a pop—not a sound but a feeling—when the head of Connor’s cock slipped in alongside Hank’s shaft.

Gavin might have tensed up again and screwed it all up if it wasn’t for the _incredible_ noise Connor made right next to his ear. It was high pitched and long, sounding like pleading then drawing out into a sort of surrender, and ending on Gavin’s name. He’d never heard anything like it, and it sure seemed like he was making Connor feel better than he ever had in his life. And that was enough, folks. Game Over was seconds away.

“Hurry,” Gavin begged in a voice that didn’t sound like it belonged to him. “Fuck! I’m gonna come!”

“Not yet,” Hank said. “Connor, I want you to come. As much as you can. Don’t fucking stop.”

There was no _Yes, sir_. There wasn’t any time. Connor pushed his lips hard against Gavin’s shoulder blade and let go, hollering behind his teeth. Some of the fluid made it inside, but without a lot of room most of it gushed down around the base of Hank’s cock, spreading wet under Gavin’s ass and dripping between Hank’s thighs onto the bed.

Hank’s thick hand was on Gavin’s cock. “Right now,” he ordered. Come for me. Do it.”

If Connor hadn’t been holding him, Gavin might have rocketed right to the fucking ceiling. He yelled, coming harder than he could ever remember, feeling his muscles clench around the thick cock that was still buried inside him.

It was only when the full-body shakes calmed down to a tremble that Gavin saw he’d shot far enough to stripe the corner of Hank’s mouth and his beard with come. He felt Connor slip free with a choked little noise.

“Hold on,” Hank said.

Wrung out, that was all Gavin could do as Hank clutched his hips and slammed into him. Even if he could feel anything but fuzzy bliss, it was only a matter of seconds and Hank was coming, too—bellowing into the room like a mad fucking bull. Through the haze, Gavin saw that totally-in-pieces look on his face again. Later, when he could use his brain again, he’d count it as a win.

After a few seconds, Hank chuckled and swabbed some of Gavin’s come from the side of his face with a fingertip. “Jesus Christ, kid,” he said, then licked the finger.

Now starting to go soft, Hank let Gavin drift to the side, slipping free as he went toward the mattress. Connor was there to catch him and bring him all the way down.

Faintly, Gavin felt strange snuggling back into Connor until he realized they were all practically dripping with his weird, shimmery spunk. It pooled on the sheet when Hank rolled over to his side to face them both, his limp cock glistening.

Because apparently it was a night for breaking shit down, Gavin kept with the theme when Connor kissed him softly on the shoulder and busted out crying. Like, real crumple-faced, shoulder-shaking sobs.

Connor shushed him and pulled him close with that steel-bar arm, nuzzling against his neck.

Ignoring the wet spots, Hank scooted closer and swabbed at Gavin’s cheeks with one thumb, running his other hand up and down his flank. “Hey, hey. It’s all right. You’re okay. You did great.”

“Sorry,” Gavin managed, sounding truly pathetic.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Connor told him, stroking his sweaty hair.

“This kind of thing can bring up a lot of buried stuff,” Hank said. “You go on and let it out. Not like I haven’t done it.”

Connor stayed mercifully quiet, but Gavin blotted his runny nose on the sheet and said, “I seriously can’t imagine you crying after sex. Or at _all_.”

Hank huffed. “You don’t know me that well yet.” He paused, looking a little uncomfortable. “Usually happened when I was, you know, on bottom. That’s why I say I don’t do it.”

“You say?” Connor asked.

“At first.” Hank narrowed his eyes. “A guy’s gotta be careful. Like I said, don’t want to get in between whatever you two have here. But maybe if we keep doing this and there’s a little more trust...we’ll see.”

When Gavin spoke, the word just popped right out of his mouth. He hadn’t been planning on saying anything.

Thank fuck Hank didn’t hear the first time. “What was that?”

Gavin shook his head.

“Come on. It’s okay. It’s just Hank now. Not the Big, Bad Daddy Wolf.”

That got a snot-filled laugh from Gavin. “Fine. I said, ‘dibs.’”

Hank rolled his eyes.

But he didn’t say _no_.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hanging about, here and there... on the wasteland that was Tumblr (nookienostradamus), Pillowfort (nookienostradamus), and Twitter (@YeWriterBitche).


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